P.I. Daddy's Personal Mission. Beth Cornelison

a place for that kind of behavior and school is not the time or place.”

      God, when had he started sounding like his father? No. Not his father. More like his mother. Egad. That was scary. Peter cringed internally.

      But Mark Walsh had never been interested in teaching his son wrong and right. He’d been too busy cheating on his wife. Acid burned in Peter’s belly at the memory, and he swore to himself, again, that he’d be a better father to Patrick than Mark Walsh had been to him.

       Mr. Walsh, more than discipline, what Patrick needs is his father.

      “Patrick, I think the thing I find most disturbing about what happened at school today is that you sassed your teacher. I didn’t raise you to disrespect adults and especially not a lady.”

      “That’s no lady, that’s my teacher,” Patrick said in a deep voice, mimicking the comedian they’d watched on television together the past weekend.

      Peter had to bite the inside of his cheek so that he wouldn’t laugh. He couldn’t encourage Patrick’s misbehavior, even if he did find his son’s sense of humor amusing.

      Instead, he gave Patrick the look all parents have instinctively. The I-mean-business-and-you’re-treading-on-thin-ice look.

      “Tomorrow, first thing when you get to school, you will apologize to Ms. Navarre for being rude and disruptive.”

      Patrick gave a dramatic sigh and stared out the window.

      “Look at me.” When he had his son’s attention he added, “And you’re grounded for…” Peter did a quick calculation. What length of punishment suited the crime? And why wasn’t there an instruction manual for parents? Raising his son alone was, hands-down, the hardest thing he’d ever done.

      And the most rewarding, he thought as he held his boy’s dark gaze. “For the weekend. No video games, no TV, no going to your friends’.”

      “What!” Patrick grunted. “What’s left?”

      “Try reading a book, or catching up on your schoolwork. Or…going fishing with me.”

      “Hello? Dad…it’s November. It’s freezing.”

      “What, you don’t think fish get hungry in November?” He tugged up the corner of his mouth. “Okay, so…we’ll save fishing for spring, and we’ll…” Peter turned up his palm as he thought. “Catch a football game together.”

      “You said no TV.”

      “I know. I’m talking about going to a game. Live. I bet I can still get us tickets to see the Bobcats play. What do ya think?”

      Patrick’s face lit with enthusiasm. “Montana State? Seriously, Dad? Can we?” Patrick whooped.

      “I’ll take that as a yes,” Peter chuckled as his son bounced in his seat. “But remember our deal.”

      Patrick screwed up his face. “What deal?”

      Peter shook his head in frustration. “You’re going to bring up your grades, apologize to your teacher and promise me that your days of clowning around in class are over. Got it, buddy?”

      Patrick slumped back against the seat, a contrite expression pulling his mouth taut. “Yes, sir.”

      On the way home from school, Lisa stopped at Salon Allegra for a pedicure. Sure, it was November and no one except her would likely see her bare feet until next spring, but after standing all day and dealing with Patrick Walsh’s aggravated father, she figured she deserved a little pampering. Heck, she might get a manicure, too.

      Lisa pulled the collar of her parka up around her chin as she bustled into the beauty shop. The bell over the front door tinkled as she entered, announcing her arrival to the staff. The shop’s owner, Eve Kelley, looked up from the appointment book at the front desk and sent her a bright smile.

      “Afternoon, Lisa. What brings you in on this blustery day?” Eve’s blue eyes shone warmly, her girl-next-door-meets-cheerleader friendliness in place as always.

      “Hi, Eve. I need a pick-me-up in the worst way. I thought I’d get a pedicure if you could work me in.”

      “Well…” Eve glanced to her beauticians, each with a customer already, and gnawed her bottom lip.

      “If you’re too busy, I’ll—”

      “Nonsense. I’ll get you fixed up myself.” She picked up a tube of salted crackers and motioned for Lisa to follow. “So…bad day at school?”

      “Not for the most part. Plans for the rescheduled fall festival are going well. But one of my better students decided to act out today, and when I called his father in for a conference, I got an earful. Dad settled down a little once I got the chance to explain myself, but…whew! Confrontations with parents always leave me wrung out.”

      “I bet.” Eve patted an elevated chair, showing Lisa where to sit, and set her crackers on a nearby table. As Eve took her seat, Lisa noticed the former prom queen and cheerleader had unbuttoned her jeans at the waist, as if they didn’t quite fit anymore.

      Had Eve put on a couple of pounds? Lisa couldn’t really tell.

      The beauty shop owner look as gorgeous as ever to her. Eve turned and caught Lisa staring, speculating. “So who was this irate father?”

      “Oh, uh…Peter Walsh.”

      Eve paused in her preparations for Lisa’s pedicure. “Peter Walsh? But Peter’s always struck me as the laid-back, easygoing sort.” Eve flashed her a devilish grin and wiggled her eyebrows. “The extremely hot, laid-back, easygoing sort.”

      An image of Peter Walsh’s broad shoulders and rough-hewn jawline taunted her as Lisa returned a smile. “Oh, he is good-looking, no lie. But when it comes to his son, he apparently has a bit of pit bull in him.”

      “Hmm.” Eve hummed as she nibbled a cracker and tipped her head in thought. “I’ve known the Walsh family for years. Peter has never been overly social, but also never anything but kind and polite. He’s had a tough road, raising Patrick on his own.”

      When Eve paused to munch another cracker, Lisa asked, “What happened to Patrick’s mother?”

      A shadow crossed Eve’s face, her sculpted eyebrows puckering with some dark emotion. “She died…in childbirth.” Eve’s gaze drifted away, across the room, as she recalled the details. She rubbed a hand over her belly almost without thought.

      An odd tingle of recognition nipped Lisa’s nape. She glanced at Eve’s crackers then studied the pretty blonde’s glowing face. Could she be…?

      “Katie and Peter were so young,” Eve said and shook her head sorrowfully. “Probably only nineteen or so, but they’d been high-school sweethearts and married right after graduation. Katie’s death crushed Peter. And after losing his father a few years earlier…well, we thought his dad was dead…”

      Eve gave her head a shake and puffed out a breath. “But that’s a whole other can of worms. One more freak tragedy for him and his family to have to deal with.” Jamming one more cracker in her mouth, Eve turned on the jets of the steaming foot bath for Lisa to soak in.

      Lisa slipped off her shoes and socks, giving her sore feet a little rub before sinking them in the warm water. Her fatigue now pressed on her with a more somber note, but she couldn’t blame Peter Walsh for her gray mood.

      Mention of childbirth gone wrong and the subtle clues that Eve was pregnant stirred up painful memories. Memories that were better locked away where they couldn’t haunt her.

      Shoving down thoughts of the baby she’d never have, Lisa wiggled her toes in the steaming foot bath and redirected her thoughts to the subject at hand. “So Peter has raised Patrick alone since his birth?”

      “Yep. Although I’m